Vincent (Made Men 2)

If this is him holding back, then… One thing was for sure, she needed to get the hell away from scary Vincent.

“W-where are w-we going?”

He forcefully squeezed the steering wheel. “Right now, I’m thinking about turning the fuck around.”

No!

“D-don’t.” She couldn’t stifle her crying.

He gritted his teeth. “Why the hell not? You’re already fucking scared of me, so I should at least give you something to be scared about. ” Vincent pulled off the road and put the car in park. “He deserved a lot fucking worse than what I did, Lake. I’m the one who tried to walk away for you. He was the one asking for it by running his goddamn mouth. I’m not stupid. I know you’ve been taking shit for a long time and if I had my way, they would all be fucking dead right now!”

“I-I know, but she’s my mom, regardless of what she did. She’s my family.” She tried to keep her body from shaking so much while she was wiping away her tears.

Lake understood it was his fucked-up way of trying to save her, yet she didn’t like this Vincent.

I never wanted to be saved. She was too afraid the price would be her mother’s head.

He took a long, deep breath as he smoothed his hair down. “Where is your house?”

She quickly looked over at him through her watering eyes. “What, my dad’s?”

“Yes, your dad’s, unless you want me to go back to your mom’s.” He put the car back in drive.

No way did he need to go to her dad’s if what had just happened would happen again.

“I don’t want you to go there,” she whispered.

“Why the fuck not?” His voice started to rise again.

Because you’ll make me homeless.

“You just can’t.”

He went to pull out. “Fine, I’ll fucking take you to mine.”

“Wait!” Lake quickly grabbed the steering wheel. She thought for a moment, trying to decide whether it was worse to be homeless or virgin-less. “We can go to my dad’s.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

It’s A Crime To Cut Off The Crust

Lake looked out the car window to see the complete opposite of her mother’s house. They were no longer in the suburbs, but instead a rundown part of the city. The only good thing about the street was it was semi-safe at night since most of the people who lived on it were the hardworking-class of the dirt poor.

“You aren’t going to leave without coming inside, are you?” She thought she would at least ask.

“What do you think?” He put the car in park and turned it off.

Lake took a deep breath. Figured.

Getting out of his car, she went up the stoop of the dirty-looking condo then pulled her keys out of her bag before putting them in the slot.

Before she could unlock the door, she turned to Vincent. “Don’t tell my dad about my mom. He doesn’t know anything, and it would kill him to find out.”

“Just get inside,” he hissed.

Figured that, too.

She turned the key and went inside the old condo, letting Vincent in behind her. Shutting the door, she was sure to bolt it before she flipped on the light switches to reveal the dingy place.

It was as clean as it could get for something so old, needing serious upgrading and repairs. The tiny kitchen held the tiny dinner table, which connected to the tiny living room that contained a loveseat and box TV. Their furniture was all mismatched and old along with their appliances, but to her it was home, and she felt safer there than anywhere else on the planet. The dirty, old, rundown place was her safe haven, and she loved every inch of it.

She didn’t want Vincent to see it, because then he would look at her the way everyone else did—like a piece of trailer trash. Something stupid in her actually cared about how he thought of her. And now he finally gets to see the real me.

Unable to look at his face yet, she went down the little hall and knocked on one of three doors, the one which led into her father’s bedroom. When he didn’t answer, she opened the door to find it empty.

Why isn’t he here?

“Maybe he’ll be home later,” she said, coming back into the living room and setting her bag down.

Vincent looked at her sympathetically. “I’m sure he will. Why don’t you come sit down, and I’ll fix you something to eat?”

She shook her head. “We just ate. I’m not hun—”

He stopped her, pulling off his jacket and tie then loosening his top buttons. “You didn’t eat shit, because you were worried about touching his fucking precious food. Now, sit the fuck down before you pass out.”

Her mouth dropped open before she shut it then scooted into the kitchen and sat at the creaky table. She watched Vincent look through the few cabinets and fridge, wondering if he even knew what anything was. She didn’t exactly think he spent much time in a kitchen.

“Is cereal okay?” he asked, pulling the milk out of the fridge.

She scrunched her nose. “Um, that’s old.”

Vincent checked the date to see if she was right then tossed it in the small trashcan. He grabbed a small packet of ramen, which was virtually the only thing left, and looked around the package for a date.

“I don’t think ramen can get old,” she told him.

“Really?” He looked over at her like he didn’t believe her.

“I mean, they make it for college students and poor people, so it can’t go bad because we can never throw food away.”

Vincent squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he mumbled to himself.

What? It’s sad but true.

Finding a small pot in the clean side of the sink, he filled it with water and put it on the stove. Then he grabbed the bag of bread and pulled out the last two slices, which were the crust ends of the loaf.

“Of course,” he said, tossing them back in the bag to throw away.

“Whoa, that’s like the best part! I just said we don’t throw food away. My dad would kill you for throwing that part away.” Does he even listen to anything I say?